


Less Than Animals

by mm8



Series: Air Through the Engine [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Firefly
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, Character Death, Dark, F/M, Fake Character Death, Flogging, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Imprisonment, M/M, Martin Crieff Whump, Non-Consensual Violence, Physical Abuse, Planet Destruction, Pre-Slash, Presumed Dead, Starvation, Torture, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Martin and Douglas play Rhyming Places on their trip to Kerry so Carolyn can get a birthday present for Herc, the pilots discover something terrible that will rock the 'verse to its core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Less Than Animals

**Author's Note:**

> I desperately need a beta for this. If you would like to volunteer please let me know in the comments.
> 
> Since this is a crossover with Firefly there is a few Chinese words and phrases scattered throughout the fic. I, however, do not speak Chinese and used the words with the translations from various Firefly websites. If you see that I made a HUGE mistake, please let me know. A translation of all the words I used will be at the end notes.

The Earth-that-was became used up; everyone knew that; it was primary school knowledge. The people set out to the stars to find a new home, a new galaxy. Why they chose _this_ place he never quite understood. It wasn't like it was utopia or heaven. It was normal, really. But, then people had to be… well people. Big power struggle, the dogs didn't want to share their chew toy, lots of fighting and in the end the bigger dog won. 

Of course, the little dog wasn't satisfied with that.

* * *

"Newhall to Whitefall."

"Um… Um…" Martin bites his lower lip and gazes upwards for a moment as if he looking towards the heavens will magically pop a good answer into his head. "Hera… Aera… Bera… Cera…"

Douglas exhales a little too loudly. "No, try again."

For a full minute the only sound in the flight deck is of the natural silence and Douglas' rhythmic tapping on his steering column. "New Melbourne to…" Martin pulls a face as he struggles to find the words. " _Old_ Melbourne?" His voice squeaks at the end, making him sound like a rubber duck.

"My God, Sir," Douglas gapes, a horrified expression is etched across his face. "Are you sure that you were born in the 'verse?" His voice drips with sarcasm. "What part of Londinium did you say you were from?"

"Workingham," Martin replies shyly.

"Does Sir want to play a game that he won't have such a horrible disadvantage at since Rhyming Places is too hard? Like Flight deck Buckaroo or Simon Says. Oh," the first officer lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, yes that's right. There isn't a game we play that I don't complete desolate you every single time."

"Bizui!" Martin snaps. He sits up straighter in his seat and childishly focuses on ignoring his first officer.

They fly in a tense silence for a few minutes. The wide open black stretches out in front of them like an endless sea as they continue to their destination. Martin chances a glance or two toward his first officer and tries his hardest not to blush when he notices Douglas occasionally glancing too. He shrugs it off and concentrates on flying. Only thirty-four minutes until planet fall. 

"Rhiladore to Splendor."

Martin turns his head quizzically, his eyebrows raised, a smirk playing on his lips. "Really? We're starting that up again?"

"We never stopped."

Before Martin can reply, the door behind them slides open and Arthur happily waltzes into the flight deck carrying a tray of tea and coffee. His grin is so wide that it looks as though his cheeks are beginning to hurt. "Morning, chaps! Coffee for you, Martin. And tea for you, Douglas."

After Martin and Douglas murmur their respective thanks the deck becomes quiet again. Apparently Arthur doesn't take silence very well and quickly begins to shuffle from foot to foot so there's so noise. Then when that wasn't enough to calm his nerves he begins to hum an old sea shanty from the Earth-that-was. Arthur wonders why there are only _sea_ shanties and not oh, say _space_ shanties. But sea shanties does flow better than space shanties. That doesn't mean he wishes there weren't some he could hum at a time like this. "So chaps, what game are we playing?"

"Nothing."

"Rhyming Places."

Martin and Douglas glare at each other for a split second, daring the other to say that their answer was wrong.

"Oh, Rhyming Places! Jing tsai! I love that game! There must loads of places that rhyme." Arthur sits cross-legged in the jump seat and rests his chin on his curled fist like he's thinking. "Um… um… Conrad to…" Arthur began to tick things off with his fingers. "Aonrad…Oh that's funny to say. Bonrad… _Conrad_! Oh no, that's what I was trying to rhyme. Donrad…"

Douglas says, "Or Conrad to Spinrad."

"Oh!" Arthur snaps his fingers and pouts. "I nearly had that."

"You know, Arthur," Douglas interrupts. "That you and Martin have the same strategy when playing this game?"

"Really?" Arthur's expression lights up. "And how's that?"

"You're both rubbish."

"Wei!" Martin and Arthur chime together.

"Ah," Arthur jumps up from his seat and into the air with great enthusiasm. "Now I remember why I came in here!"

The pilots give their steward equally puzzled looks. "You gave us our drinks, remember, Arthur?" Martin reminds him.

"Well, yeah. But that was just a diversion! I really came up here to tell you that Mum wants to know," he heaves a big sigh and expels his words in one breath. "How long until we land on Kerry, please?"

Douglas inquires, "She said it that politely? With her _please_ and _thank yous_?"

"Well, no." Arthur's lips pucker slightly and his nose crinkles. "But what she said was _really_ rude so I cut it down a bit. But it came down to that, yeah."

"We'll be at Kerry any minute now, Arthur," Martin says in an official tone.

"Great! That's great!"

"Arthur," Martin turns his head to glance back at the younger man for a second. "Why did your mother want us to make a 'quick stop' to Kerry of all places?"

"Um, yeah," Arthur coughs, a little embarrassed. "Mum wants to buy Herc a birthday present."

"A _present_ that she can only get on Kerry? A planet wildly known for its drunkards and for harvesting potatoes? What kind of present is it?"

"Dunno. She wouldn't say. I'm as baffled as you."

Douglas' knuckles were white on the steering column. "So what are we supposed to do while _Carolyn_ goes on her little shopping trip for her _boyfriend_?"

"Ah, Douglas. Don't call Herc her boyfriend," Arthur warns. "I learned that the hard way."

"She's been with Herc for, what a year?" Martin comments. "Why can't she—"

"Year and a half, actually," Arthur corrects. "But, I dunno," Arthur's voice is a little sad and his lip is jutted out is a pout. "I mean Herc is great—"

"Meadow to Shadow."

Martin and Arthur both stare at Douglas, eyes wide as saucers. Douglas is avoiding their gazes, his eyes facing forward toward the windshield; his grip on the wheel is deadly, like he is liable to break it off at any moment. 

"Are you alright, Douglas?" Arthur asks with concern.

"Fine. Peachy, in fact."

Arthur sits back down in the jump seat, humming a sea shanty once more when it becomes evident that no one is going to talk. There really should be space shanties…

"Chaps," Arthur taps his feet on the floor in rhythm to his shanty. "How long 'til we land?"

"In about…" Martin leans over the console to check a couple readings. "Oh…" his voice is dark. "Oh, oh. _Oh_."

"Are you going to keep repeating yourself until your tongue goes numb?" Douglas snaps at him.

"No," Martin hisses. "According to these read-outs we're supposed to be at Kerry. Like, literally at Kerry. Right on top of it in fact. But…"

All three men look out into the black. There's nothing out there but the familiar darkness they'll all accustom to. There are some chunks of rock that's easily avoidable floating about but… nothing else worth noting.

"Then you must have flown us in the wrong direction with your excellent flying expertise, _Sir_."

"No, Douglas, look at the coordinates. We should be literally on top of Kerry. We should be on the planet."

Douglas sighs deeply and leans over to exam the screen Martin is referring to. He gives the screen a few nimble taps before squinting at it in alarm. "Shuh muh? That's not possible." The experienced pilot goes over the reading again and again but gets the same result. "No, really that's not possible."

"But it is," Martin is staring at Douglas in wonder. "Where's Kerry? It's a whole planet. W-where did it go?"

The two pilots lock eyes for a moment before Douglas turns away and calls out, "Arthur, get Carolyn up here, now."

"Yeah, but Douglas," Arthur fumbles over his words; nervousness beginning to take over. "I think Mum—"

"I don't care want she thinks, Arthur," Douglas booms. "Get. Carolyn. Here. _Ma shong._."

Arthur doesn't need to be told a third time.

Martin releases a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as soon as Arthur disappears. "What are we going to do, Douglas? I— I mean… W-what are w-we going to do?"

For once, the first officer doesn't have a comeback.

And that scares Martin more than the missing planet.

They sit and wait as the air around them thickens until they hear Carolyn's shrieks coming down from the galley. "Of all of the completely useless pilots! It wasn't as if I was having a bad day already—"

"Were you having a day Mum?" Arthur's inquisitive voice asks.

"Arthur, light of my life. Shut up." 

"I was just asking—"

Carolyn strolls into the flight deck like she owns the place, commanding and authoritative, not a feather out of place. "Do you know what I see? Ha! I'll tell you. I see two lazy, lazy pilots not flying me to Kerry like they're getting paid to do. "

"We're at Kerry," Douglas replies grimly.

"Surely you two haven't gone blind now, hm?" Carolyn smirks, her hands folded neatly over her middle. "There's nothing out there."

"Exactly the problem," Douglas refutes. 

"Look, Carolyn," Martin pulls up a chart on one of the screen on the console. "Do you know the exact coordinates for Kerry?"

Carolyn scoffs and splutters, "No, well of course I don't! What do you take me for? Some kind of walking Alliance mandated encyclopedia?"

Martina glares at her, clearly offended. "Yes, well, _I_ do know. Look," he points to the screen.

Carolyn sighs heavily, mouth set tense. "Alright, alright, alright. But when I see that you foolish pilots are _wrong_ I'm going to—" She stops dead mid-sentence and clamps her mouth shut. Carolyn looks back and forth between the console and the wide open space in front of them. 

On the screen it clearly reads: Georgia System, Planet: Kerry, Coordinates: X83H.45-B12C.09

The exact spot they're at.

And there's nothing here.

"Check it again."

"We checked it, Carolyn," Martin frets. "We checked it and we doubled—"

"Then check it _again_ ," she yells. "There must be a malfunction in the system. Or you fell asleep and drifted off course."

"Do you hear yourself?" Douglas yells, his face burning red. "A planet is _gone_ , _Carolyn_. Pff!" He waves his hand in a twirling motion. "Gone into thin air without a trace. Like a magic trick. So what are you going to do?"

Everyone stares at Carolyn while she thinks. Time passes so slowly it seems like an age has gone by when she finally takes a deep breath and utters, "Douglas, send a wave to Fitton and let them know of the situation." Her voice is soft, nowhere near the level it was a few minutes ago when she came breezing in.

"W-wait, hold on," Martin interjects, holding up a hand. "Fitton? We're in the Georgia System, Carolyn. Fitton is on Londin—"

"Martin," her voice regains its volume as she addresses her pilot. "I know my geography of the 'verse."

"That's not what you said before," Arthur says from behind his mother.

"Bizui!" 

Everyone stays silent, waiting for Carolyn to speak again. Internally, the owner of MJN Air, counts to ten, slowly releases her breath, then calmly and relaxed says, "Douglas, send a wave to Fitton. Fitton is our registered port so it is only appropriate that we contact them. From there, Carl can link us up to the space authorities in Londinium, where you, Douglas will speak to them and tell them what you found and then we'll go from there."

"Hold on," Martin retorts. " _I'm_ the Captain, Carolyn. It should be _me_ not Douglas who talks to the authorities."

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey gives Martin the deadliest of glares, making him scooch down in his seat a little. "What does it say on the side of GERTI?"

Martin sighs, biting back any fighting words. He can't believe that she's bringing this up again. He smiles tightly and speaks through gritted teeth. "MJN Air."

"And what does that stand for?"

"My Jet Now."

" _Whose_ jet now?"

" _Your_ jet now."

"That's right," Carolyn says with pride. She's grinning like the Cheshire Cat from the ancient writings of Lewis Carroll. "And as GERTI's owner I'm ordering _Douglas_ to send the wave. He looks more like a proper pilot." She turns on her heel and walks back toward the galley. "Let me know what happens. Arthur!"

The steward glances worriedly between the pilots to his mother, before shrugging and following her.

Douglas and Martin exchange tired glances.

"That's her told," Douglas comments.

* * *

They're told to stay at their exact location until the proper authorities arrive to scope things out and to question them. 

"C'mon, Martin," Douglas winces as he rises from his chair. His back and legs are stiff from sitting for hours. He's not the man he used to be. Douglas cocks his head. "Help me in the cargo bay."

"W-what?" Martin splutters, turning around in his seat to face his colleague. "W-why?"

"I need help moving my," he chooses his word carefully. "Gifts."

"Oh, _Douglas_ ," disappointment rings through the pilot's voice and is marked across his face. His eyes are glossy and slightly squinted. "I thought you'd stopped smuggling."

"Smuggling? Me?" Douglas places his right hand over his heart and opens his mouth in an exaggerated 'O' shape, then smiles cheekily. "Never. No, they are merely gifts to my good friend Benito. I was supposed to give them to him on our next trip." Douglas grimaces. "Except Carolyn changed the flight plan at the last minute and now look what happened?" He shakes his head. "Well, come on then."

"W-wait, w-wait!" Martin shouts holding up his hands defensively. "Our next trip?" He laughs emptily. "Douglas, we were scheduled for Boros. It's heavily populated with Alliance military. You'd have to be insane to try and pull a smuggling job—"

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" he replies, shutting off that topic completely. The first officer smirks and holds out his arm for Martin's. "Shall we?"

Martin grips the arm rests of his chair as if they are the only thing holding him back. "But s-shouldn't one of us s-stay here?"

"Nonsense! GERTI can take care of herself." Douglas physically pulls the lanky ginger out of the seat and pulls him out of the flight deck, through the galley and cabin where passengers sit during the short flights.

"So what are these _gifts_?" Martin asks, trying not to concentrate on the pressure of Douglas' warm, large hand on his arm.

"Medical supplies. They really need them on Boros."

"So you're doing good smuggling?"

"There's always a bit of good in _gift-giving_."

They're walking side by side now, in step and time. Their footsteps echo against the steel as they cross into the area of the ship that is off-limits to regular passengers. The employees-only area is lackluster compared to the rest of the boat. No décor on the walls, just claustrophobic steel walls and cat walks and stair wells. Carolyn had spared no expenses.

Martin is trying not to blush, trying to somehow control the flush crawling up his neck to his cheeks. It's embarrassing. He spends the majority of his time in the flight deck with Douglas flying GERTI, this proximity to his first officer shouldn't affect him so much. 

Martin is about to open his mouth to ask Douglas a question, when Carolyn's harsh screams of "What do you think you're doing?! Get off my boat!" assault his ears. He doesn't have time to react as he Douglas, still holding firmly onto his arm, tugs him along toward their boss' cries of distress. The corridors go by in a wild blur and before the captain knows it they have arrived in the cargo hold. 

"Hands up! Both of you!"

"Hey," a voice bounces off the steel walls. "Look at how the older one is clinging onto the ginger. You think they're sly?"

"I said hands up!"

As Martin raises his arms he gets a good look at the scene before him. There's a gaggle of Alliance officers armed with large guns, aiming them at either he and Douglas or Carolyn and Arthur. Some of Alliance military have completely ignored them and are tearing the cargo bay apart or marching past beyond to the rest of GERTI, assumingly to search the rest of her. All of the men are large, and buff and scary looking; stern expressions crowd their faces like they were born with them. Arthur is shaking a little, his eyes are huge and mouth clamped shut. Carolyn looks incredibly angry, more than Martin has ever seen her before, including that one time he landed with the breaks on at Paquin. He catches a glimpse of Douglas, beside him, who is standing erect, glaring daggers at the Alliance men. GERTI feels wrong, claustrophobic, and infected with the military onboard.

The man who seems to be the leader of these men, he has the most medals attached to his uniform, steps forward and for a moment observes all of them. Martin twitches when the man stares at him. He doesn't like the look of him, not at all. His eyes aren't… right. One is a deep blue, like the oceans on Conrad. But his right eye is frosted over, glazed even. It freezes Martin to his core. He shivers.

The man smirks and rounds on Carolyn, cocks his gun and points it to her temple.

Arthur makes a squeaking sound and begins to sob. Martin is too shocked to move a muscle but Douglas steps forward and yells, "Hwoon dahn!"

So quickly that Martin doesn't even get a chance to blink, every soldier in the cargo bay, minus the man in charge, drops what they are doing and trains their gun on Douglas Richardson. The soldiers beside Martin and Douglas all press the barrels of their guns into various vital points of Douglas' body that would insure his death. Arthur's dry heaves is the only sound any of them make.

The man in charge smiles, and averts his eyes back to Carolyn; Douglas is no longer interesting. "Is this your boat?" Carolyn nods meekly but the man isn't satisfied. He presses his gun into her temple, _harder_. Carolyn lets out a cry of anguish. "I'll ask you again. Is this your boat?"

"Yes!" 

The man hmphs and backs away from Carolyn, and strolls back and forth for a moment, one hand behind his back, clearly in thought. His footsteps were deafening. Suddenly, he stops, clicking his heels together when he does so. He nods to himself and strides back to Carolyn. 

"Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, you and your crew of the ship Golf Echo Romeo Tango India are hereby under arrest by order of the Union of Allied Planets." He gestures to all of the soldiers in the room. "Take them down."

Martin has enough time to let out a panicked scream before his head starts to hurt and everything goes black.

* * *

**Union of Allied Planets, Planet: Boros, Base: Camden Date: February 28th  
Prisoner: Richardson, Douglas Interviewer: Counter, Colby Commander**

_Excerpt from Prisoner Interrogation on February 28th_

Commander Counter: You've been on this crew for what? At least over five years, has it?  
Richardson: Hm. That's right.  
Commander Counter: And what did you do before that?  
Richardson: I'd rather not answer that.  
Commander Counter: Is that so? You do realize what you and your fellow crew members are being charged with, don't you?  
Richardson: What does that have anything to do with about my past?  
Commander Counter: Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I'd like for you to tell me what you did before joining the crew of Golf Echo Romeo Tango India.  
Richardson: Her name is GERTI.  
Commander Counter: What? Oh, yes, you've given your boat a clever nickname; how quaint. Now, Mr. Richardson, do want you tell me about your past history _willingly_ or shall I inform you about it myself and have to write in my report that you didn't corporate?  
Richardson: I suppose we'll have to see, won't we?  
Commander Counter: You think you're being funny and clever, don't you Richardson? Well, because of you, who you are, what you are, we've got a solid case against you and the whole crew of Golf Echo Tango Romeo India. What do you think about that, Mr. Richardson?  
Richardson: I don't think you know a damn thing.

* * *

They haven't fed Martin since their arrival. He isn't sure where he is even. The Alliance soldiers knocked him, and presumably everyone else out on GERTI. What happened after that he doesn't know. He's lost track of time. There are no windows or clocks. He feels so weak, drained. He tries not to move from his spot on the back wall in order to conserve energy unless he has to use the toilet that's in the corner. They left him here without his clothes, whatever the point of that had been. 

This cell is about the size of his attic back in Fitton, if he's honest with himself. It's not like the prison cells he's seen on TV were they are grimy. His is immaculate. Glass walls that must be ridiculously thick because he tried breaking them on the first day. There are five little holes in each wall, to circulate air, he guesses. The floor is clean too, tiled with some reflective material. His captors have left him no entertainment to occupy his mind and spirit. Slowly, Martin is beginning to worry he'll go mad if this imprisonment lasts too long.

There are several other cells identical to his on either side and across, but no one is occupying them. It makes Martin wonder where the hell they've taken Carolyn, Arthur and Douglas then. And why they have left him alone.

He feels like caged animal in one of the zoos he went to as a child. He remembers, fretfully, that one time on a class trip when they went to the Londinium Zoo he had seen a sick lion, one of the last lions that were descended from the ones from the Earth-that-was no less. While everyone else ran around pointing at the flying monkeys, Martin had taken a seat in front of the lion, studying him. He was sad, a perpetual frown on his golden face. The lion, who in his head Martin named Samuel, just laid stretched out on a few rocks. His fellow lions were playful, but not his Samuel. 

Martin hadn't noticed when a man, dressed in an official zookeeper uniform sat down beside him. "Do you like lions?"

Martin smiled up at the man. "He's my friend," he says as he points to Samuel. "I think he's shiny."

The zookeeper frowned; it was like the frown that his mother gave him when he'd said something wrong. "I'm sorry, little one but that lion's sick. He's not going to last much longer."

Martin looked up at the man, his eyes wide and full of curiosity. "What do you mean?"

The man sighed and scrubbed his face. "Your friend is homesick. He doesn't remember who he is locked up in that cage. What I mean is, son, your lion is going to die. Do you know what dying means?"

Yes, Martin knew what dying meant on that day because his Great Ruth had died when he was little, and so had his goldfish Mr. Gold. That's what is happening to him now, Martin thinks. He's dying. The human body could only so long, a few days maximum without water before death. 

He shuts his eyes and lets out a breath slowly. Martin doesn't want to die this way. Not like this.

* * *

Martin's eyes snap open when he hears indistinct shouts coming down the hall. He must have fallen asleep. He shifts his body to the upright position, leaning against the glass wall for support. He blinks; his eyelids want to stick together. His vision is slightly blurry but he can make it out. Two Alliance men flanking a tall, older man. Martin blinks again to focus and rubs his eyes. Yes, yes, it's Douglas! Oh dear God, it's Douglas and he's alive. He doesn't look to be in good shape either. His clothes are gone too, and clearly he's been beaten, bruises liter his body, fresh, ugly and purple. 

"C'mon, let's put him in the one next to the guy he's sly on." The solider on Douglas' right laughs. 

They open the cell next door using an ID card and shove Douglas in unceremoniously and the first officer lands on the floor with a lack thwack. But quickly, he stands up and goes to the wall connects their two cells, the holes are a Godsend, not only a way to circulate the way but a way to communicate. 

"Martin, Martin," he cries desperately. He pounds on the glass. "Gorram, has anyone fed him? Wuo duh Tian Ah. _Martin_." His voice reeks with anxiety. 

Martin crawls over to the glass wall to meet his friend; it takes longer than it should. He's weak. So weak. He presses his hand up against the glass to meet Douglas' opened palm. He wishes he could feel the heat of skin. Martin works the unused muscles of his throat and croaks out a weary, "Ni Hao."

Douglas chokes back a sob but manages a smile and returns the greeting. He turns his face back to the giggling guards. "Can one of you feed him? He's skin and bones!"

"Why should we listen to you?" The shorter of the two asks. He's the one who made the sly comment. "You're just a prisoner here, see."

"Do you think your Commander Counter would like it if you let a valuable witness die under your care? And if you do let him die, I don't tell the Commander anything I know, will I? And whose fault will that be?" Douglas stood his full height and faced his captors, staring them head on.

The smaller guard doesn't look like he's going to back down, but the other one is. He hits the guard's arm and points to Martin. "Just give him some protein bars, Elliot. Doesn't matter."

Elliot glares at Douglas for a second longer, then grumbles, fishing through his pockets and producing three small mini-sized protein bars. He opens a hatch that Martin hadn't noticed and drops them in his cell. 

"Wise choice," Douglas says. A smile emerges. "Was that so hard?"

Elliot goes berserk and rams the door of Douglas' cell with a battle cry. The glass doesn't crack or shatter but instead Elliot hollars in pain, holding his left arm. "Gorramit! I think I broke it! Fuck! Fuck!" He glares at Douglas. "He goaded me! You fucking goaded me! You—!"

The other man pulls Elliot away forcibly. "He's not worth it! Let's get your arm checked out."

Their footsteps echo down the corridor and soon are gone.

"Martin," Douglas whispers. "Martin, can you hear me? Are you alright?"

"Hm?" Martin murmurs. He lulls his head off his shoulder. "S-sorry. Think I fell asleep. I keep doing that…"

"Martin, Martin! Stay with me! You have to stay with me!" Douglas shouts. "Look, eat one of those dreadful protein bars, alright?"

Martin sighs. He hasn't had this much activity since he's gotten here. At a snail's pace he crawls over to where Elliot left the bars. He grabs the nearest one and tears off the wrapper. The bar is golden and flakey. He takes a bite and almost spits it out. Martin pulls a face. "It's stale." He checks the expiration date on the side and whines. " _Way_ past its expiration date." 

Douglas lets out a chilling laugh. "Well, at least you're still _you_ "

They're silent for a while. Douglas get accustom to his new home and Martin munches on the old protein bar. 

"Douglas, what's happening?" He finally asks. 

Douglas shrugs, his back facing him. "I dunno."

* * *

**Union of Allied Planets, Planet: Boros, Base: Camden Date: February 28th  
Prisoner: Richardson, Douglas Interviewer: Counter, Colby Commander**

_Excerpt from Prisoner Interrogation on February 28th_

Commander Counter: We'll get to them, you know. We'll make sure we kill every single last person that you love.  
Richardson: I don't think that's possible.  
Commander Counter: Oh really? And why's that?  
Richardson: Because I don't love anyone.  
Commander Counter: Now who's bluffing?

* * *

"Avalon to Babylon. Your turn."

Martin passes Douglas a tiny piece of protein bar through one of the holes that's shared between their cells. It's been three days since they brought Douglas in the cell beside him. Every day since a guard, different each time, comes and gives Martin a protein bar and a bowl of water; never anything to Douglas. In fact they ignore that the first officer is even in the cell. Douglas will pound is fists on the walls and shout jests about the guard's mother but they always turn the other cheek. 

"This game's stupid," Martin admits. "I'd rather play Flight deck Buckaroo."

"Nah, you're just saying that because we've been playing it nonstop for so long." Douglas chews and swallows his portion of the protein bar. "C'mon it's your turn."

Martin groans, flopping his arm over his eyes. "I'm rubbish at this game. I haven't gotten a single one yet."

"True," Douglas ponders. "But isn't that half the fun?"

Martin blows a puff of air. "For you maybe." He rolls onto his stomach and rests his head in his arms. "Douglas?"

"Hm?"

"W-what do you think they're going to do to us?"

Douglas glances down at Martin, studying him. Then adjusts himself so he's lying down at the same level. It's almost like they are lying down side-by-side; glass can be deceiving. 

"I mean, they've imprisoned us, for what? They never said. They've…" Martin pauses to regain himself. "They've starved us. Abused us." He gazed pointedly at Douglas' fading bruises. "All for what? Is it about Kerry? We don't know what happened; we were just reporting it. And if it is…" he gulps. "What gives them the right to treat us like _this_? Like we're less than animals? Why are they even keeping us alive? And where are Arthur and Carolyn? Are they— A-are they de—"

"Don't you dare say that."

Martin raises his head a fraction. Douglas' face is face and his jaw is clenched. "You— You can't give up hope, Martin."

"Why _not_ , Douglas? Why the hell not?" Hot tears begin to stream down his face and Martin curses himself for it. "No one knows we're here. The Alliance isn't exactly known for treating their prisoners well as it's been demonstrated clearly. What will happen to us when they get bored? Or find that we don't have what they want? Or do have what they want? What then?"

Martin jumps as Douglas slams his fists against the glass wall. "Damnit, Martin! Shut up and listen! You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine. I promise."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. I'm Douglas Richardson, aren't I? I always figure something out in the end, don't I? Remember that time Arthur kept saying 'Don't worry, Douglas will think of something'. And none of us listened to him and we spent our time worrying that Gordon was going to buy GERTI from us? But in the end, I _did_ think of something? It's like that now. I _will_ think of something and everything _will_ be alright. Do you trust me?"

Weakly, Martin nods. "Y-yes, Douglas. I trust you."

Douglas lets out a deep sigh and gazes at Martin through their prisons. His eyes are tired, full of worry. "Thank you."

They drift into a less than comfortable silence for a few minutes. Martin meditates, focusing on his breathing; how many seconds it took for his breath to fully expand in his belly and how long it took to exhale. "Douglas," he says on one of his exhales.

"Yes?"

"They're rather interested in you, aren't they? Martin asks.

"Oh, Martin. Those guards hardly even look at me."

"No, really." He sits up and leans his side against the wall. "They ignore you because they're afraid of you. I've seen some of them flinch when you look so much in their direction. What is it about you, Douglas? Why are they so frightened of you? Who are you?"

"That's air through the engine," is the only thing Douglas says hours later.

* * *

These footsteps are different. 

The Alliance soldiers who come every day to bring Martin his generous ration of one stale protein bar and a small bowl of water, both of which he shares with Douglas, have quick light footsteps. They don't want to be there, delivering food to the prisoners, it's a menial job. They get in and get out as fast as they can.

The footsteps today are slow, heavy and deliberate. Martin looks over to see that Douglas has tensed up.

"Doug—"

Douglas puts a finger to his lips to shush him. 

They sit and wait. Martin feels the hair stand on the back of his neck as the footsteps approach.

"Ah. Mr. Richardson. I trust that you are enjoying the accommodations?"

The blood in his veins freezes. It's the man; the man GERTI who had his gun trained on Carolyn and ordered their arrest. The man with too many medals and the strange eyes.

"Not really, no." Douglas replies casually as possible. "Even on Whitefall you get a television… or a _bed_."

The man laughs, it's empty and loud. "Oh, how quaint." He turns his attention toward Martin, smiling brightly, extruding all charm. "And you must be Captain Martin Crieff. Pleasure to finally meet you. I'm the commander of this base; you may call me Commander Counter."

"Or Feh Feh Pi Goh whichever suits you." Douglas interrupts the exchange.

The Commander tuts. "Jealous, are we, Mr. Richardson? Oh well, I did not come here for you, not yet. I'm here for Captain Crieff. I expect that you have many questions, Captain?"

Martin nods. "Why—"

"Don't answer him," Douglas snarls.

Commander Counter turns his head a fraction toward the first officer. "Mr. Richardson, that's twice now you've interrupted me. Do not do it again," he warns. "Now, Captain Crieff, I believe that you want some questions answered?"

Martin looks over at Douglas and shakes his head no.

"Really?" The Commander is standing at the door to his cell. "Is that how it is?" When silence is his only reply, Counter sighs. He clicks his fingers together and Martin can hear the heavy steel door at the end of the hall being opened. "You both have been wondering what has become to your companions, have you not? Are they alive? Are they dead? Have they been tortured? Have they been set free and forgotten all about you? Ah, Jones," the Commander addresses the Alliance soldier that is approaching. "Mr. Richardson, Captain Crieff, you remember Jones, don't you? His arm wasn't in a sling then, of course."

Martin blinks in alarm. Jones is the soldier from before. _Elliot_. The one Douglas had purposely pissed off. Elliot has two items in his arms, a manila folder and a cat o' nine tails whip. Martin shivers and wraps his arms around his body.

Commander Counter snaps his fingers again and Jones hands him the folder.

"Do you recall, Mr. Richardson, when I told you I'd kill everyone you love, I meant it. I'm a man of my word." He takes out some photographs from the folder and holds them up to the glass for Martin and Douglas to see. "Beautiful, handiwork isn't it? They didn't die peaceful. There was a lot of pain. But look at my men's creativity. I couldn't have done it better myself."

Martin rushes to the toilet and vomits. 

He can't bear to look back and see the graphic digital photographs of Carolyn and Arthur being brutally slain, throats cut, organs ripped out from their bodies. Too much blood. Their eyes… cold and staring.

"As we speak my men are travelling to the White Sun system to meet and greet with your lovely daughter and _three_ ex-wives; quite impressive. Your daughter, she has your eyes."

Douglas rushes forward to his door, and hocks a nice sized spitball through the holes. It ends up landing at Elliot Jones' feet.

"Ah," Commander Counter tuts. "You shouldn't have done that. Private Jones here is very angry with you and seeks revenge. He has quite a temper." He chuckles, "Did you ever stop to think Mr. Richardson, of why we are here?"

Douglas' eyes widen in terror. "No, no!"

The Commander chortles, "Yes, yes!" He claps his hands together. "Jones, you know what to do."

Elliot Jones smile is one of a killer. He grips the cat o' nine tails firmly as slides his I.D. card home and is allowed access into Martin's cell, the door closing behind him, sealing Martin's fate.

Martin feels his adrenaline begin to pump. He's already in the corner; there's nowhere to run or hide. Elliot stomps into the room pins him down against the toilet. "Count for me, love," Elliot breathes hotly against his ear. He strokes the cat o' nine tails gently across Martin's back. "Every time you fail to count, it'll be another five lashes for you."

The first hit comes as a surprise and Martin screams. It's hot as his flesh is being ripped open. 

"You didn't count, love. That's another five."

The second lash hurts as much as the first and comes just as fast. Martin grits his teeth and whimpers, "One."

"I can't hear you!" Elliot screams and unleashes the cat o' nine tails again.

"Two!" Martin screams as the whip slashes across his arse. 

"Good boy. Again."

One after another the lash comes across his back, arse and legs. He counts; it's the only way he can keep his concentration. He can feel the blood dripping down his legs, his skin flaking off. He hisses in pain as the cat o' nine tails sears into bloodied tissue again and again. Martin can hear Douglas screaming, pleading.

"Fifty… five…" Martin heaves.

"That's enough." A sharp voice orders.

Martin wearily looks up. Commander Counter. He'd forgotten all about him. The Commander watches him for a moment and then turns his head away and smiles. "I think we're all done here, don't you agree, Mr. Richardson?"

Martin has barely any energy left but he manages to crane his neck to get a look at Douglas. His lets out a little whimper. Douglas is pale, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. His eyes look… dead. He seems beaten. 

"Yes, I'll go with you." Douglas responses meekly.

"Good. We all get want we want." The Commander smiles, "Jones, please assist me in escorting Mr. Richardson upstairs."

Douglas held up his hands. "Wait, what about—"

"Someone will be down shortly to take Captain Crieff to the medical bay."

Martin lets himself fall to the floor. He's too exhausted to care about the pain or the blood. There's too much blood, isn't there? It's his blood. All of his blood. He hears Douglas yelling something… _something_ …

* * *

**Union of Allied Planets, Planet: Boros, Base: Camden Date: March 5th  
Prisoner: Richardson, Douglas Interviewer: Counter, Colby Commander**

_Excerpt from Prisoner Interrogation on March 5th_

Commander Counter: So here we are again, Mr. Richardson. Would you like to—  
Richardson: Yes, I'd like to speak with my lawyer.  
Commander Counter: Excuse me?  
Richardson: I think you heard me quite clearly.  
Commander Counter: You have no right—  
Richardson: I have every right. If you and your Alliance lackeys did any sort of research into me, and we both know what you did, you know what before becoming a pilot I went to the best medical school on Osiris for a semester. But, I also went to the University of Osiris's law school for a semester. I know my rights. Under Alliance Law I have the right, under any circumstances, for any crime, to be read be read my rights upon arrest and to ask for a lawyer upon my request. If I recall correctly, my arrest wasn't that—  
Commander Counter: Understood. Mr. Richardson, do you have a lawyer or do we need to appoint one for you?  
Richardson: No need. My lawyer's name is Shipwright. Hercules Shipwright.

* * *

_"No, Mum, it's not here either."_

_"Did you check_ 'The Times' _?"_

_"Yes. Nothing there. Or on any major blogs. No one has posted anything. I don't understand what's going on."_

It sounds like Carolyn and Arthur. But Carolyn and Arthur are dead. Suppose that means he's dead too. 

Someone squeezes Martin's hand and he squeezes back instinctively.

_"Look, Mum! Apples!"_

_"Oh, you silly boy."_

* * *

_"I do love you."_

_"The information has been taken done and we appreciate you for your business."_

_"Damnit, Carolyn. If we get married—"_

_"I didn't agree to this! I didn't want to this!"_

_"Do you… Do you feel the way I feel about you?"_

_"Herc, please… don't…"_

_"Carolyn…"_

_"I'm not saying I_ don't _. I'm not saying yes either."_

Wait, how did Herc get here?

* * *

_"Please, wake up."_

Douglas?

_"For me. I realized too late."_

Martin feels a slight tingling sensation on his forehead. It's not bad, it's wet and light. 

_"Please, wake up. I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I think that I'm in love with you."_

Douglas?

* * *

When Martin finally comes to, everyone is there. He sobs at the sight of Carolyn and Arthur. The steward keeps hugging him and offering him water to sip on. Carolyn offers her hand for Martin to hold and looks away and claims that dusts keeps getting in her eye. At the far side of the room Martin spots Hercules and Douglas, watching the television set and chatting quietly. 

"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" Martin asks.

The room falls into a hush.

"We'll explain back on GERTI, Martin." Douglas ensures.

"What? What do you—"

A quiet knock on the door silences everyone. They all look to see none other than Commander Counter. Martin buries himself in his pillows. Douglas quickly strides over and possessively stands over Martin's bedside. 

"Captain Crieff, I see that you are awake. You gave us all quite a scare. You've been unconscious for several days." He smiles at everyone in the room. Martin notices that the Commander doesn't make an attempt to enter the hospital room any further than the doorway. "As you've all been informed, we are very sorry about the incident and the men responsible will be reprimanded. Mrs. Shipwright—"

"Knapp-Shappey," Carolyn snaps. "We're not married, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Forgive me. Mrs. Knapp-Shappey, your ship has been repaired as you requested. If there is anything else?"

"No," Carolyn barks.

The Commander nods. "Then I will take my leave. And you are all free to depart when you are ready." He salutes. "Long live the Alliance."

After Counter leaves, Martin faces his friends. "What the hell is going on?"

* * *

"Ohh, that's cold."

Martin is lying on his stomach in his bunk. Douglas has a chair pulled up beside him and is rubbing his prescribed ointment on his backside. He doesn't care that he's nude and this should be a sexual situation. But it's not, really. Probably because of the situation of how he got these awful scars makes it not arousing. He's more comfortable around Douglas now, after everything that's happened. And that makes things more okay between them.

Commander Counter had kept Carolyn and Arthur in a similar environment as he and Douglas at the base, just in a different area. He doctored photos to make it look like he had them murdered to get Douglas to talk. What about, Martin wasn't sure. Douglas had another plans, however. He called in Herc, claiming that Herc was his lawyer, so he could get someone the crew knew on the inside. Apparently, the Alliance had been charging the crew of GERTI for the destruction of the planet Kerry, and reckoned that Douglas was the mastermind or something. But somehow, Martin wasn't sure on this part either, maybe due to the men's charm or maybe the Alliance simply changed their mind, but Commander Counter did a 180 and set them all free. The Alliance's new and official line to the 'verse was that the planet Kerry did not exist.

While Martin had been asleep in the Boros hospital Carolyn and Arthur combed every blog, every book, every newspaper, every TV station, but nothing. They even went up to staff and quizzed them on geography. No one except for their little band had ever heard of Kerry before. 

"What do we do now, Mum?" Arthur had asked when they boarded GERTI for the first time after checking for any Alliance bugs.

"Just keep flying," Carolyn said as if it was as natural as breathing. 

"Martin," Douglas whispers as he massages the pilot's arse. "If I…" he pauses. "I'm…" Douglas stops massaging and presses his hands to his own temples. "Martin, I—"

"It's okay," Martin replies, a bit muffled. He lifts his head and smiles back. "It's air through an engine. It's in the past."

Douglas stares at him, stunned. Then shakes his head and chuckles. "Yes. Air through the engine."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my fic. If you see any errors please let me know. Comments and kudos are shiny but not required.
> 
> Chinese Words and Phrases Index  
> Bizui = Shut up  
> Jing tsai = Brilliant  
> Wei = Hey!  
> Shuh muh = What? or I'm sorry?  
> Ma song = Now  
> Hwoon dahn = Bastard  
> Gorram* = Goddamn  
> Wuo duh Tian Ah = Oh my God  
> Gorramit* = Goddamnit  
> Feh Feh Pi Goh = Baboon's ass crack  
> *Not actually Chinese, but is used in Firefly


End file.
